Unmovable and Unbreakable
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: Grandma had told Quentin that he needed to be Phoebe's rock. But weren't rocks hard and sharp?
1. 5-5-1999

This fic was begun out of nowhere, when I was discussing ideas about Quentin and Phoebe with some friends of mine on the psychowhatsits discord server that I had while writing another fic (also Quentin/Phoebe focused!) The ideas expressed within were inspired by several people in particular, namely my pals Kai, Pond Scum, and Ash!

This fic is written from a young Quentin's point of view, but mostly focuses on Phoebe, and her experience as a young, psychic girl with a very destructive power. Kai had the idea that Quentin and Phoebe lived in the same town when they were kids, and I think that it makes a lot of sense!

* * *

"My dad's gonna take me to Toys R Us when he gets home from work," Quentin said to Phoebe during the ride home from school. "He said you could come, if you want."

Phoebe turned away from the bus window to look at him, blinking. "I'd have to ask my mom first, but sure," she said slowly, as though the idea of a trip to the toy store were confusing to her.

Quentin nodded, satisfied with the answer. Phoebe had been really down lately, ever since the 'incident with the shed' (that's how his parents referred to it) and he hoped that the outing would cheer her up some. "If we're good, Dad might take us to Dairy Queen," he said, grinning. "We could get two different blizzards and mix them up!"

"Yeah…" Phoebe opened her mouth like she was going to say something, and then didn't, chewing on her bottom lip instead. She looked nervous, and Quentin didn't know why. Phoebe being nervous about something he didn't get was becoming a regular occurrence.

"What's wrong?" he asked, starting to feel a bit anxious himself. "You don't have to get a blizzard if you don't want to."

"It's not...that. I was just wondering…" She glanced out the window, her eyes focused on the passing scenery outside the window. "Why does your dad want to take you to Toys R Us?"

"To get a gift for Leah's birthday party!" Quentin responded, glad that he had an answer for her and that they didn't have to sit with the awkward silence that was frequently becoming an unwanted guest in their conversations. "He said we could both pick something out for her." Phoebe didn't turn her head, didn't look at him, but he saw her suddenly tense up. The fingers of her left hand began picking at the bandage on her right wrist. "It's okay if you don't have money with you," he said quickly, the smile fading from his face. "My dad said he'll pay for it, he doesn't mind." No response. "Or did you already get her a gift?"

A sniff. Phoebe turned her head in a manner that made it impossible for Quentin to see her face. "I'm not going to Leah's party," she said, the words inflectionless.

Quentin blinked. "What?" he said, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "You're not going?" He paused to think on why Phoebe wouldn't be going to their friend's party when she'd gone the two previous years. "Do you have to go your therapy?" he asked. Weird, he thought that her special doctor's office was closed on the weekends.

"I wasn't invited to her party."

The words should have shocked him, but they didn't. Instead it was as though Phoebe had just confirmed something that Quentin had already suspected deep down. It didn't make it feel like any less of a punch to the gut. "Oh…" he said, unable to think of anything else to say.

Phoebe didn't say anything else the rest of the way and when her stop came, she got off without saying goodbye. When she shoved her way past him to the aisle, Quentin thought he saw tears running down her cheeks.


	2. 3-17-1999

"You have to be her rock."

Six-year old Quentin Hedgemouse was still puzzling over his Grandmother's words as he lay on his stomach in his room, putting the finishing touches on the present he was making. He was supposed to be in bed, but he was far too excited to even think about trying to sleep. Phoebe, his best friend in the whole entire world, was finally coming home after spending two weeks in the hospital. They'd been two of the longest and saddest weeks of his life, because he hadn't been allowed to see her at all during that time. Which was weird, because he'd been able to visit his Uncle Reggie when he had broken his leg in three places while snowboarding, and Uncle Reggie had been hurt way worse than Phoebe. She had only suffered a few burns.

Well, Quentin supposed that it didn't matter, because Mom was letting him skip school so that he could spend the whole day with her tomorrow. They were gonna meet-up with Phoebe's family for brunch at 10:00 am, then they were gonna go to the park, and after that they might see a movie if Phoebe was feeling up to it.

"Mom said that we could ride the merry-go-round as many times as we want," Quentin had told Grandma in the den earlier that evening. He spun around in a circle as he plotted out all the fun things he and Phoebe were going to do together. "We're gonna ride all of the horses once!"

Grandma had smiled from her chair, nodding and laughing as he rambled happily about the upcoming day. Then she had reached out, squeezing him on the shoulder, her grip firm and warm. "Phoebe must really be looking forward to it," she said, smiling at him in a way that seemed strangely stern considering the context. "I bet she missed you a lot."

Quentin nodded. "I missed her too, Grandma!"

"She's had a rough time," Grandma replied, her tone indicating that their conversation was about to get serious. "Quentin, honey, it's not going to get easier for her anytime soon." She had leveled a gaze at him, her expression stern but her eyes soft.

"But she's getting out of the hospital, Grandma. Doesn't that means she's better?"

"She's recovered from her injuries, yes," Grandma had explained, getting up from her chair. She knelt down and set both of her hands on Quentin's shoulders, as though doing so would emphasized the importance of what she had to say. "But she's still going to need a lot of help these next few months, and she's going to need you now more than ever…"

That was when Grandma had uttered that confusing phrase. Why did Grandma want Quentin to be a rock? Quentin wondered about it as he colored in Phoebe's hair (he'd drawn a picture of himself and Phoebe as his home-coming present to her- Dad said that Vango himself couldn't have done a better job, which made Quentin feel pretty proud, even though he had no idea who Vango was). Rocks were hard and heavy, and sometimes sharp to the touch- he remembered cutting his foot on one when he was in Kindergarten. The only thing he and Phoebe did with rocks was throw them into the pond by their school, and Quentin certainly didn't want Phoebe throwing him anywhere!

Grandma must have meant something else when she had said 'rock', he concluded. _Phoebe would rather have something warm and cuddly, not a hard rock," _he thought as he set aside the black crayon. _Like Maxie. _He looked over at his bed, giving his old, hand-made stuffed rabbit a fond smile. _I like hugging him, and I like hugging Phoebe. So I'll be her Maxie and give her a big hug the next time I see her!_

That decided, Quentin put all thoughts of rocks aside, and began to consider more important things, such as what to color Phoebe's scrunchies. _She likes pink and purple best..._


	3. 3-18-1999

"Look!" Quentin shouted as a dark blue Pontiac Grand Am pulled into the parking lot of the Butternut Inn and Pancake House. "There they are!"

Dad smiled, nodding. Quentin had been too antsy to wait for Phoebe and her family inside the restaurant, so Dad had taken him out while Mom and Grand settled themselves at the table. They hadn't been out there too long, maybe ten minutes at most, but for Quentin it had felt like hours. "See, I told you that they-hey!" Dad grabbed Quentin by the elbow, preventing him from running out to the Love's vehicle. "Hold up there, bud." He pulled Quentin away from the curb. "You know better than to run out into the street like that."

"Sorry Dad," Quentin said, genuinely contrite. "I just wanna see Phoebe so bad."

"I know you do," Dad said, releasing his hold, "but if you rush out there without watching where you're going and get hit by a car, you'll have to wait even longer." He ruffled Quentin's hair fondly. "You can hold on a minute more. Look, they're coming right now."

Dad pointed over to the parking lot and sure enough, the Loves were approaching, Phoebe walking between her parents as they made their way across the street. Mr. Love waved when he spotted them, which Quentin and Dad both returned. Phoebe did not acknowledge his presence, her eyes fixed on her feet as she walked. _There are a lot of cracks in the street, _Quentin reasoned with himself, _she's probably making sure she doesn't step on them so that her mom's back won't break. _It was the sort of responsible thing that Phoebe would do.

"Phoebe!" Quentin called out once her family had stepped onto the sidewalk, bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. "Hi Phoebe!"

Phoebe's head shot up at his call. She looked over to him, her dark eyes wide, like she hadn't expected to see him so soon, and then up at her dad. Mr. Love smiled and nodded, and then Phoebe detached herself from her parents, as though given silent permission to do so. She ran over to Quentin, moving as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Quentin met her halfway, throwing his arms around her and holding her tightly. "Phoebe! I missed you so much! I wanted to visit you, but the doctors said we couldn't.""

Phoebe made a noise that sounded like a cross between a squeak and a whimper, her body stiffening. She didn't hug him back, but she didn't break away from him either until her mom and his dad gently separated them. "C'mon kids," Dad said, pulling him towards the entrance. "You ready for pancakes and hot cocoa?"

"I know I am," Mr. Love said, putting a hand on Phoebe's back to guide her along. "This is going to be a gourmet meal after all that hospital food, huh sweetie?"

Dad hung back, allowing Phoebe and her family to enter first. "Hey bud," he began, kneeling down to Quentin's level. His expression was mellow, but his eyes seemed tense, and it led Quentin to think that he had done something wrong, but wasn't in trouble for it. "Ease up on Phoebe a little," he said. "Save the hugs for another day, when she's had a bit more time to recover."

Quentin frowned, furrowing his brows together as he struggled to understand why Phoebe hadn't hugged him back. "But she just got out of the hospital," he said, a slight tremble in his voice. "Isn't she better?"

"She is," Dad said, "but she's still a little...sore. Do you remember when you fell off your bike and scraped your knee real bad?" Quentin nodded. "You were sore for a while, even after it healed up. It's the same with Phoebe."

Quentin hung his head, ashamed that he had hurt his best friend, albeit unintentionally. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Dad clapped him on the back. "Not your fault," he said, rising to his feet. "Your mom and I should have considered it, really."

"Do you think Phoebe is mad at me?"

"No way! She's definitely happy to see you! She knows you didn't do it on purpose." He took Quentin by the hand. "Let's go in before they start wondering why we're still hanging out here," he said as they made their way to the door.

By the time that Dad and Quentin had made it into the restaurant, the Loves had already settled themselves in. Mr. Love was making small talk with Mom and Grandma, while Mrs. Love fussed over Phoebe, arranging her utensils and napkins around her. The dining room was quite crowded for a weekday, so they had to weave their way through a maze of chairs and passing patrons before they could get to their table. The dense crowd didn't bother Quentin; on the contrary, the pleasant and upbeat atmosphere combined with the smell of breakfast food boosted his spirits, as though everyone's positive vibes were being beamed directly into his brain. He began to feel good again, like he had before he had hugged Phoebe. _I can hug her when she's all better, _he thought when they finally arrived at the table.

There was an empty seat next to Phoebe on her left side, and since Mrs. Love wasn't sitting in it, Quentin assumed that it had been saved for him. He hopped into it, beaming at Phoebe and giving her a small wave. He was so happy to be sitting next to her again, like he did when they were in the cafeteria at school. He loved his other friends, of course, but the lunch table had felt different without her there to drive the conversation.

Phoebe smiled back, but it was a weak smile that was dashed away by a clatter of plates coming from a nearby table. She jumped, startled, her eyes shifting towards the noise as she began to anxiously rub her middle and index fingers against her thumb. The motion reminded Quentin of the way he'd seen two sticks being rubbed together to start a fire on T.V. Her skittishness was unusual; she'd never acted like this in the cafeteria or on the playground.

It seemed that Grandma had also picked up on Phoebe's nervousness. "How are you doing, sweetie?" she inquired, smiling warmly from her seat next to Quentin. "Are you holding up okay?"

Phoebe looked up at Grandma, her fingers ceasing their movement. "I'm doing fine," she answered, laying her hand on the table. Her voice was soft and subdued, a shadow of it's normal confident tone.

"We didn't get home until late last night," Mr. Love explained, " so Phoebe's a little tired. She'll feel much better once she gets some brunch in her." The corners of Mrs. Love's mouth turned downward, but she didn't say anything, instead looking down at her menu in a way that made Quentin think that she wasn't actually reading it.

"I'm not tired!" Phoebe declared to the table. She hastily grabbed the menu and opened it up, laying flat between herself and Quentin. "What kind of pancakes do you want?" she asked, sounding a bit more like herself. "I like the blueberry.."

The next few minutes were spent discussing what everyone was going to get. Quentin and Phoebe came to an arrangement in which each would order a different kind of pancake (strawberry for Quentin, blueberry for Phoebe) so that neither of them would have to make a difficult decision. "It's the most efficient way to do it," Phoebe told the amused waiter matter of factly when he came to take their order.

The conversation then turned to all of the events that had occurred during Phoebe's absence. "You didn't miss a lot," Quentin said, catching her up on the most important things first. "The new Dragonball Z is boring, and the Sailor Moon episodes were all re-runs." He paused to think for a moment. "There's gonna be a new show called Spongebob on Nick."

"I saw the commercial for that at the hospital," Phoebe said, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder. "It looks kinda dumb."

They moved on to happenings at the school. "We made daisies out of construction paper last week," Quentin said, almost picking up his mug with telekinesis before remembering that he wasn't supposed to do that in public. "Mine was orange. I made a pink one for you but Dalton Bishop dumped his juice on it." He took a sip of his cocoa, the taste of sweet cream and warm chocolate abating the bitterness he felt regarding the memory.

"That jerk!" Phoebe said, her face turning red with outrage. She clenched her fist, her fingers bunching up the white tablecloth. "You worked hard on that!"

Mr. Love looked over at his daughter, alerted by her sudden outburst. "Hey now," he said lightly, smiling in an easy-going manner. "Let's" not yell at the table, honeybunch."

" I wasn't yelling," Phoebe said, put out that her father would accuse her of such a thing. She turned her attention back to Quentin. "What did Ms. Jolly do about it?"

"She, um, she said what you just said about me working hard." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "She made him stand at the wall during recess."

Phoebe nodded, satisfied that justice had been served, but still annoyed that such a crime had been committed at all. "He wouldn't have tried it if I had been there," she said, frowning. That was true; Dalton had been afraid of her ever since she had yelled at him for pulling Quentin's hair back in Kindergarten. "If I hadn't been at the hospital, I'd have-"

"Phoebe, enough." Mrs. Love's stern tone cut her daughter off like a knife going through a cucumber. "You know what they told you about getting too worked up."

Phoebe looked over at her mother, deflating at the chastisement. "I wasn't getting worked up," Phoebe grumbled, letting go of the tablecloth and smoothing it out.

Quentin swallowed, feeling as though he had made a mistake in bringing the topic up. _Her mom never told her to calm down like this before, _he reflected as he watched Phoebe sink glumly back against her seat. "Chris is gonna get two guinea pigs for his birthday," he said, hoping that changing the subject would lighten the overall mood back up. "He said he was gonna bring them to school one day."

Phoebe perked up noticeably at the mention of cute, fuzzy animals. "That's so cool! I hope I'm back by then!"

The rest of the table's occupants seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and conversation among the adults resumed. "So," Dad began, setting his mug of coffee down on the table, "when is Phoebe going back to school? Do you know yet?"

"April 5th," Mrs. Love answered, stirring her drink.

"That soon?" Dad winced after saying the words, as though he had burned his tongue on them. "I didn't mean...well, I'm sure she's ready…"

"Phoebe's been doing her part," Mr. Love said quickly. He laid a hand on Phoebe's shoulder, squeezing it as he looked down at her proudly. "She's doing great, so they don't want to keep her out of class any longer than necessary."

Quentin grinned. April 5th was only a few weeks away, and he was happy to hear that she'd be coming back to school soon, because class just wasn't the same without her. He turned his head towards her, expecting her to have a smile matching his own, and was surprised to discover the exact opposite expression on her face. Instead of being excited like he was she looked tiny and drawn, her eyes downcast and her shoulders hunched. _But why? Phoebe likes school, she's the smartest person in our class… _His face scrunched up in confusion as he glanced around at everybody else, wondering if they were as puzzled by as he was by Phoebe's behavior. His gaze paused on Mrs. Love, who, much like her daughter, was staring down at the table, the lines on her forehead and at the corners of her mouth looking more pronounced than usual. _They look alike, _Quentin observed- same worried stare, same dark circles shadowing their under eyes, their fingers even fidgeted with the same picking motion. Phoebe had always resembled her mom more than her dad, but Quentin had never thought that they looked more similar to each other than they did now.

A light tap on the shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Quentin," Grandma said loudly, like she was trying to talk over the rest of the group (even though nobody else was talking), "why don't you give Phoebe her present?"

Phoebe sat up a little straighter. "You got me a present?" she asked, a note of interest in her voice.

"I made you a present!" Quentin gave his Grandma a quick nod of thanks for reminding him and then reached into his pocket for the folded up piece of paper he had nearly forgotten about. He slid it over the table towards Phoebe, anticipating her reaction. "I drew it last night!"

Phoebe unfolded the paper, taking great care not to crease it any further, smoothing it out onto the table's surface before delicately picking it up and holding it out in front of her. Quentin watched as her eyes widened and a grin spread across her face. "Oh wow, Quentin!" she exclaimed, looking happier than she had all morning. "It's really good! You got my hair right and everything! Thank you!"

Quentin blushed at the praise, feeling a sense of accomplishment and glad that she had liked his gift.

"Well don't keep us in suspense," Mr. Love said, gesturing at the paper. "Let's see it!"

Phoebe flipped the paper over so that the back was facing her, presenting it to everyone at the table. The drawing, made with only the finest hand-made, gluten-free vegan crayons, depicted he and Phoebe holding hands, the words 'Welcome Home Phoebe!' written in bold purple above them. The adults all made sounds of approval and awe. "I had no idea you were such a talented artist, Quentin!" Mr. Love said, leaning forward to get a better look.

"I told him that Van Gough himself couldn't do a better job," Dad said, giving Quentin a wink.

"It'll look really nice on our fridge, that's for sure." Mr. Love reached past Phoebe to give Quentin a pat on the shoulder. "You did good, kid."

"It's very nice, Quentin," Mrs. Love said, giving him the first smile he'd seen from her this morning. It was warm, and though it didn't make her look any less tired, it did soften her features. "Phoebe- we all appreciate it."

The room suddenly felt much warmer- must be all the good vibes. "Can I put it in my room, instead of on the fridge?" Phoebe asked her parents.

A small orange spark blossomed on the corner of the paper before either Love could answer, coming to life right near Phoebe's index finger. At his daughter's yelp Mr. Love snactched the paper out of her hands and tossed it onto the table, where the spark became a flame that began rapidly devouring the drawing. Mom grabbed her glass of water and dashed its contents over the flames before the fire could spread to the tablecloth.

Silence descended upon the restaurant as guests from other tables turned to look, wondering what the commotion was. Quentin stared open-mouthed at the soggy remains of his present, having too much difficulty processing what had just happened to feel any sort of way about it. His heart was racing- he'd never seen pyrokinesis in action before, and the speed with which the flames had moved had shocked him.

Everyone else was staring at Phoebe, so Quentin did too, for lack of anything better coming to mind. Her eyes were as big as saucers, tears brimming within them as they flickered from one person to the next, her injured finger held out just in front of her mouth. Her gaze landed on Quentin last and didn't linger there for more than a second. She pushed herself away from the table, shaking the plates and glasses, and fled, overturning her chair in her haste to get away.

Mrs. Love wasted no time, shooting up from her seat and hurrying after Phoebe before she could run out of the restaurant. Mr. Love got up too, bending over to pick up Phoebe's chair and pushing in his wife's. "Uh, sorry," he said, "I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short." He laughed, but it sounded so sad that Quentin wished he hadn't. "We'll take care of the bill-"

"No, no, please don't worry about it," Mom said, waving Mr. Love's offer away. She took one of her napkins and attempted to clean up some of the mess, gathering up the soaked paper. It fell apart in her hand.

"Phil, you go catch up with them," Dad said, giving Mom one of his plates so that Mom could put the paper on it. "We'll take care of things here."

Phil nodded and took his leave, rushing out of the dining room.

It was then that the waiter arrived- or maybe he had been there the whole time, and had gone unnoticed during the fire-induced havoc. He pushed his cart forward, blinking at the wet, slightly burnt table. "Uh," he said, looking at Quentin inquiringly, "Pancakes?"


	4. 3-20-1999

"Hey!" Grandma yelled, leaning her head out of the driver's seat window to shoot the cat that had decided to sit in the middle of the road a glare. "Get out of the road! Some of us have places to be!"

The cat, a striped orange short hair with an unusually fluffy tail, stared at Grandma's Volkswagen Beetle with feline disdain, unconcerned about the one-ton vehicle bearing down on him. "Do you have hairballs for brains?" Grandma asked before honking the horn twice.

The cat closed its eyes languidly and yawned, purposely exaggerating the way it stretched its jaws open. Then it sauntered off, its tail sticking straight up in the air, looking as though he had departed of his own whim rather because he was being menaced by an old lady in a Beetle. "Sheesh," Grandma huffed, rolling her eyes as she hit the gas pedal, "This is why I prefer dogs."

Quentin nodded in agreement. He liked cats, but he and Grandma were on a mission and needed to get to Phoebe's house as soon as possible. He yawned, much like the cat did just seconds before, the contents of the bucket he held in his lap rattling as the car moved onward. It was way earlier than he usually woke, the sky on the horizon a mix of pink and orange that made Quentin think of fruit smoothies. "You alright?" Grandma asked, noticing his sleepy state. She flicked the turn signal on as they approached the right led onto the street Phoebe lived on.

Quentin shifted, sitting up in his seat. "I'm okay," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I don't know why I'm so tired. I went to bed early like you told me to."

"It's because you aren't used to it," Grandma explained as she turned the steering wheel. "You'll wake up more once we get there."

It would not be long before they did. Quentin felt himself perk up a little more, anticipation already beginning to bubble up inside of him. He drummed his fingers on the lid of his bucket and looked out at the neighborhood he knew almost as well as his own. The houses were all moderately-sized and well-kept, the trees in front of them standing tall with newly budding leaves already on their branches. Quentin had always thought that the part of town Phoebe lived in was nice, but he'd overhead some other kids at school derisively refer to it as a 'lower-class' place. He'd never understood why- sure the houses here weren't as big or fancy as the ones in the gated community he lived in, but Phoebe's house was always cozy and smelled like cinnamon.

They pulled into Phoebe's driveway five minutes later. "Geez Louise, kid!" Grandma laughed when Quentin began unlatching his seatbelt before the car had even come to a full stop. "Don't go falling out now!"

Mr. Love was waiting for them outside, a mug in each hand. He approached as Quentin opened his door and jumped out. "Good Morning!" he greeted, making long quick strides down the path leading to the driveway.

"Hey Mr. Love!" Quentin said, waving with one hand while lugging his bucket with the other. He went over to meet him, the heavy pail hitting his leg as he walked.

"Hey Phil," Grandma said as she exited the vehicle and shut the door behind her. "Quentin, you didn't close your door!"

Quentin swiveled his head back towards the vehicle. The passenger side-door was still wide open. "Uh-oh! I'll get it!"

"You sure will!" Grandma called back.

Quentin turned, and took a step forward, but then stopped without going any further. He looked back and made eye contact with Mr. Love, who smiled and inclined his head in the direction of the car door, as though issuing a silent, friendly challenge. Quentin, deciding to take him up on it, set his bucket down on the driveway and put two fingers to his forehead, the way they did in the comics he and Phoebe liked to read. He extended his other arm out, focusing his telekinesis on the door, and then slowly swept it horizontally. The car door followed the movements of his arm, closing with a soft click. He turned back to Mr. Love, proud of his accomplishment. "I did it!"

"You sure did! Wow!" Mr. Love bent forward to hand one of the mugs to Quentin, who took it eagerly. "That's awesome! And so early in the morning, too! At this time of day I can barely get my socks on!"

Quentin smiled up at him, holding the steaming mug with both hands. The morning was a chilly one, and the heat of the hot chocolate gave his cold hands some relief. "Is Phoebe up?" he asked, bringing the mug up closer to his face so he could inhale the chocolatey goodness.

"She was asleep when I checked a few minutes ago." Grandma walked up and handed her the other mug. "But you know how she is." Quentin certainly did know- Phoebe was usually awake before he was, though not normally this early.

"You better get started then,Quentin," Grandma suggested, gesturing at the driveway, "if you want it to be done before Phoebe wakes up."

Quentin nodded, took a generous sip of his cocoa-it was hot, but not scalding, and felt good going down in contrast to the frigid air around him- then moved to kneel in front of the driveway, setting his bucket and his mug down on either side of him. He took the plastic lid off of the bucket and scrutinized its contents for a moment before taking out a thick pillar of white sidewalk chalk.

He looked down at the smooth grey asphalt, wondering where he should start on his recreation of the drawing he'd given Phoebe. _The head would probably be best,_ he decided, leaning forward to touch the chalk to the driveway. _It's what I normally do._ He pressed the chalk down and arched it upward to create the oval that was to become Phoebe's head, liking how easily the chalk dragged on the asphalt. _I better make sure I draw everything big enough…_

As Quentin drew Phoebe's outline, the adults behind him talked. "How's she been?" Grandma asked.

He heard Mr. Love sigh. "She's been very upset about what happened at the brunch." Quentin frowned, because he had also been very upset about it, not having been able to understand why Phoebe set something that he had made for her on fire. "She said she liked it," Quentin recalled saying to his mother shortly after returning home. "Why would she burn something she liked?"

"She didn't mean to do it, honey," Mom had said as she pulled him close and wiped away his tears. "It was an accident. She's having a lot of trouble right now…"

Phoebe had not spoken to him since that day, even though he had called her later that night and the afternoon following. Knowing that she had been sad about what happened to his picture should have made him feel better, but really didn't. He didn't like to think about Phoebe being upset, even if she had hurt his feelings at the time. _She didn't mean to, though. I know that._

"Vanessa was right," Mr. Love admitted. "It was way too soon for her to be out in such a crowded place."

"All those people may have been overwhelming after the hospital," Grandma replied sympathetically, "but Phil, it wasn't anybody's fault. These things happen."

Quentin furrowed his brows and paused, bringing his free hand up to rub at the side of his head. A strange sadness began creeping into his mind, like water flowing into the cracks in a sidewalk, made weirder by the fact that he'd been feeling really good a second before. He glanced behind him, looking up just in time to see running a hand through his close-cropped black hair. "We should have just had breakfast at our house," he said, the guilt he was feeling weighing as heavily on Quentin as it must have on him. "But she was so excited. She kept going on about how much she wanted to see Quentin."

"I was really happy to see her," Quentin said, hoping the words would make Mr. Love feel less bad, "even if it was only for a little while."

Mr. Love blinked, as though he had forgotten that Quentin was there. He smiled down at him, and the sadness began to recede from Quentin's mind. "I'm glad to hear that. Phoebe's lucky to have a friend like you." He cleared his throat. "Maybe we'll go for brunch another day, when she's had a bit more time to recover.

That sounded like a great idea to Quentin. He turned back to his art, more motivated to complete it than ever if it would help Phoebe get better faster. He finished the outline of her body in good time and set the white chalk aside, wanting to start on her hair. He didn't have any black, and it wouldn't have shown up that well on her driveway, so he levitated a piece of purple chalk out of the bucket and into his hand. _Phoebe won't mind having purple hair and I can always make her scrunchies pink, _he thought as he swirled the chalk around her head in little circles to create her curls.

The color that came out on the driveway was lighter than what the color of the chalk had implied, but there was no way for Quentin to change it, and it looked pretty anyway. A breeze blew, rattling the branches of a nearby tree and rolling the white chalk he had put down underneath Grandma's car. Before he could react, the chalk came rolling back, seemingly of its own accord. He glanced back at Mr. Love, who gave him a wink as he talked with Grandma about the prospects of the Mets. Quentin grinned and gave him a double-thumbs up, then put the chalk back into the bucket so that it would not roll away again.

He worked for a good while, the sky above him gradually lightening, pausing now and then to take sips of his cooling hot chocolate. He felt a tickle in the back of his head halfway through coloring Phoebe's shirt, a light, barely noticeable touch. It was the tingle he often felt when Phoebe was near but could not see her. Mr. Love had them that the sensation was the result of them automatically picking up on each other's psychic wavelengths, an explanation that had disappointed them both. "I thought it was because we had a super strong bond," Phoebe had said, "but it's like that for everybody?"

Mr. Love had laughed at her dissatisfaction. "Well, yeah. But being friends is sort of prerequisite for it."

Quentin turned his head towards the front window, somehow knowing that the source of the psychic energy was there. The curtain was drawn back slightly, and he could just make out a pair of dark eyes peering out at him. He waved and the curtain quickly fell back into place, blocking Phoebe from view. Though he couldn't see her, he knew that she was rushing to the door to see what it was he was doing in her driveway.

The front door opened not five seconds later, and Phoebe peeked her head out, looking similar to the way she had while looking out of the window. Alerted by the creak of the door hinges, Mr. Love and Grandma turned. "Uh-oh," Grandma said with mock-chagrin. "Looks like the jig is up!"

"I guess so!" Mr. Love siad, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, you may as well come on out, after you put a jacket and some shoes on."

Phoebe closed the door and re-emerged after a moment, wearing a 'University of Oregon' hoodie that came down to her knees over her pajamas and a pair of sneakers far too big to be her own. She lingered on the doorstep, one hand still on the knob, making no move to walk forward or retreat back into her house. She raised herself up on her tip-toes and looked to where Quentin sat, attempting to peer over at his drawing.

Mr. Love waved her over. "Phoebe, you know your mother will throw a fit if she catches you leaving that door open," he warned. "Come on out, Quentin's got something to show you."

Phoebe shut the door with a push, her fingers reluctant to leave the knob. She squared her shoulders, inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, and then stepped down to the sidewalk. She walked with her back straight and her arm hanging at her sides, the long sleeves dangling over her hands. Her oversized shoes made loud thumps on the concrete, making it sound like she was stomping, but the look on her face was more anxious than angry. Quentin couldn't blame her- a bit of nervousness was simmering in his stomach, though he could not understand why that would be, as he'd never been nervous about talking to Phoebe before. _So many things are different now…_

She came to a stop in front of him, her gaze alternating between her face and her sneakers. Quentin decided to speak first, hoping that it would put her more at ease. "Hi Phoebe," he said, waving at her with his chalk still in hand.

Phoebe waved back, the too-long sleeve of her hoodie flailing around with her movements. "Hi," she squeaked out in reply. She swallowed, looked away at the dew-covered grass, and then said. "I'm sorry I burned your drawing." She cringed as though remembering what she had done caused her physical pain, and her eyes were full of the same guilt that had haunted Mr. Love's. "I really liked it."

Quentin smiled, though it was hard, because she looked like she would burst out crying at any moment, and it hurt to see her that way. "It's okay, Phoebe. These things happen, it's no one's fault," he said, repeating the words his Grandma had used.

Phoebe wrapped her arms around herself, still unable to look him in the eye. Quentin got to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder, taking care not to press down too hard in case she had a burn there. "Look, Phoebe," he said pointing down at his half-finished depiction of her. "I'm making another one for you!"

Phoebe slowly turned her head, directing her gaze down at the picture. She gasped, her eyes growing wide and her mouth dropping open. A flood of emotions rushed from her head into his - shock, happiness, and guilt, a combination that he had never before experienced himself, and made him want to both cry and jump for joy. "I thought-" she cut herself off, and then tried again, her voice choking up. "I thought you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore after what I did." Tears gathered in her eyes, and she started sniffling a little. "That you wouldn't want to see me ever again."

"What!" Quentin blinked back the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, genuinely surprised that she would think such a thing. "No way! We're best friends forever!" He moved in to hug her, remembered what had happened the last time he did that, and then settled for gently patting her on the shoulder. "I'll never stop being your friend, not even if you try to stop being mine We're best buds for life!"

In an instant Phoebe launched herself into him, throwing her arms around his neck. The hug did not last long, as the contact still bothered her healing injuries, but when she pulled away she was smiling."Thank you, Quentin," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

"No problem," he replied, stepping back and turning his attention to the drawing. "I wanted it to be a surprise," he said as they both knelt down to examine it more closely. "But it would have been too dark if we had gotten here earlier."

"I was still surprised," Phoebe said, tracing her finger along the outline of her scrunchie. "I've never seen you get up this early!"

The door opened again, and the final member of the Love household emerged, dressed in a warm flannel robe. "Mom!" Phoebe yelled, grinning from ear to ear. "Come here! Quentin made me a present that I can't burn!"

Mrs. Love headed over, not looking at all that surprised to find Quentin and his grandma in her yard at this hour. "That's really thoughtful of you, Quentin," she said, smiling down at him with approval.

"It'll last longer than the paper one," Quentin said, "at least, until it rains, anyway."

"If it rains, we can draw another one." Phoebe made the declaration with confidence, sounding so much like her old self that Quentin became immediately convinced that things would be back to normal in no time. "I'm gonna draw you," she said, floating a piece of chalk into her hand.

Quentin grinned. "Rad," he said, and then the two set themselves to work, the air around them steadily getting warmer.


	5. 3-24-1999

"Alright," Phoebe said as she settled herself into the swing next to Quentin's. "If you want this to work, you gotta hold on tight."

Quentin squeezed his hands harder around the chains that connected the seat to the swingset. He was glad that they were doing this in his backyard instead of at the park, because the swings there did not have the same blue silicone covering over their chains like his did, which would have made them a lot less comfortable for him to wrap his fingers around. "Okay, Phoebe!" he said, eager to see where she was going with this. "What do I do now?"

Phoebe told him that he would need to focus his telekinesis on the back of his shirt and pull himself upward as far he could. "Pretend you're a Mommy-Cat," she explained, "and that you're picking one of your kittens up by the scruff of its neck." She turned to face forward. "Watch me do it." The collar of her shirt lifted up, then she began to move back up into the air, as though there were some giant, invisible hand picking her up. Quentin supposed that there was. Once she was at an acceptable height, the invisible hand (Phoebe's invisible hand) released her. She went down and then back up, her legs kicking briefly in the air as she came back down. She let herself swing once more before digging her feet into the ground to stop herself. "See? It works really good, and this way we'll be able to go super high without having to push each other."

That sounded almost too good to be true. Usually they had to take turns, and standing there pushing someone on the swing was a lot less fun than being the swinger. They could launch themselves up from the ground with their legs, of course, but you just couldn't get as high on your own. Using telekinesis like this seemed to be a good way to get the most air without having to delegate to someone the role of pusher. "Wow, Phoebe," Quentin said, impressed with her demonstration. "You're really good!"

"Thanks!" She grinned at him proudly. "Since I've been out of school, I've had a lot of time to practice!" She inclined her head, indicating that it was his turn to give it a shot. "Now you try. Just make sure that you don't grab your neck, because you might hurt yourself."

Quentin focused his telekinesis, already excited about what was to come. It was hard at first, since he couldn't see what he was focusing on, and he did actually end up giving his neck a few psychic pokes before his psi-hand managed to find his collar. After that, he had to pull up, and that was difficult too, for he had never lifted anything heavier than a plate with his telekinesis before today. His face went red with exertion as he dragged himself backwards. "Man, Phoebe," he said as he struggled to go up, "you made it look so easy!"

"Try using your legs, too!" Phoebe suggested, having noticed Quentin's strained expression. "Kick yourself up, that's what I did when I first started!"

Quentin pushed himself up with his feet, the momentum allowing his psi-hand to bring up to near level with the bar the swings were attached to. His hand was able to hold him up for half a second, and then the ground was coming at him at an almost alarming rate before he swung up into the air. As he rose, his body lifted up off the seat of the swing, and he likely would have fallen off had his grip on the chains been less tight. He laughed, exhilarated by the speed with which he moved, feeling the breeze at his back as he came back down. "This is so cool, Phoebe!"

"I know!" She was now pulling herself back and up, satisfied that Quentin knew what he was doing and wanting to join in.

They utilized the swing-set in this manner for a good while, soaring higher than they would have by more conventional means. Phoebe experimented with psi-poking Quentin to give him more push, but quickly stopped upon realizing that it wasn't possible for them to go any further up than they already were. All new activities eventually lose their novelty, however, and this one was no exception. The swinging soon became boring, and the two began thinking of something else to do. _It's a nice day out, _Quentin thought to Phoebe-communicating with her like this was easier than trying to shout over the creaking of the swingset. _I don't want to go inside yet. _

_We could go get Maxie, _Phoebe thought back. _I bet he'd like to play on the slide._

_Yeah! But first, let's jump off the swings!_

_Okay!_

They both lifted themselves up with telekinesis one last time, Phoebe patiently waiting for Quentin to get up to her level. "You ready?" she asked.

"Yeah!" And with that they both let go, and then, upon arching up as high as they could, jumped off their swings at the same time. Phoebe immediately plummeted to the ground, landing on her feet, but Quentin slowed his descent by summoning his levitation ball into his hand. He had learned that he could do this not long before Phoebe's Incident, but hadn't been able to show the new ability off until now. "Look, Phoebe! I'm Mary Poppins!" he declared as he slowly floated down, his levitation ball looking like a big balloon. "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!"

Phoebe laughed at his fake English accent. "That's really cool Quentin! How'd you get so good at levitation?"

Quentin shrugged, because he honestly did not know. "Race you to the house!"

"You're on!"

They sprinted off to the porch. Quentin took the lead at the start by using his levitation ball to bypass the porch steps, but immediately lost the lead when the ball bounced off the porch and crashed him into the side of the house, a mere foot to the left of the sliding glass doors. "Oh, no! Quentin!" Phoebe rushed over to where he landed, brows furrowed with worry. "Are you okay?"

His palms stung a little from when he had held them out to stop his face from smashing into the wall, and the landing hadn't been too kind on his knees, but he was otherwise fine. "I'm okay, Phoebe," he said, taking Phoebe's offered hand and rising. "I'm not hurt."

Phoebe's look of concern transformed into a mischievous smirk. "Good!" She abruptly darted off, opening the sliding door with telekinesis and then shutting it behind her after she had passed through the threshold.

"Hey!" Quentin was hot on her heels, offended that she would play such a nasty trick- okay, maybe calling it a nasty trick was going too far, but it was still cheating! He slid the door open and burst into the sun room. Up ahead he could see Phoebe, running through the living room towards the stairs, so he sped up to catch her. "Geez," he heard Dad say from the couch as he passed, "Who let the Clydesdales in?"

He rounded the corner just as Phoebe reached the top of the landing. Again, he used his levitation ball to quickly ascend the staircase, although this time he made sure to call the ball back before he landed. This closed the distance a little bit, but not enough, and when he reached his room Phoebe was already standing there with a triumphant expression on her face. "I win!" she boasted, chest puffing out proudly.

Quentin considered calling her out for what she did at the porch, but decided he didn't really care enough about it to do so. She could just as easily say he was the cheater for using his levitation ball the way he had. "Yeah, you did," he conceded, "but I'll win next time."

"Hm, maybe." She opened the door and reached out her arm in the direction of Quentin's bed, on which Maxie was propped up against Quentin's many pillows. Using telekinesis, Phoebe hoisted him upright, his cloth feet touching the bedspread. She drew Maxie forward, jerking the bunny up and down, like she was trying to make it look like he was hopping across the bed to them. It...didn't really work, since the force of the telekinesis made his limbs flail wildly about, but it still looked funny and it made Quentin smile. When Maxie got to the edge of the bed, Phoebe floated him effortlessly across the room, pulling him right into her waiting hands. "Hello, Maxie!" she greeted, smiling down at the little stuffed bunny with affection, "how are you today?"

A spike of anxiety surged through Quentin as he watched Phoebe carry on an imaginary conversation with his favorite toy. He did not know what it was, but something about the way she looked at Maxie made dread pool in the pit of his stomach. _That's how she looked at my picture right before she burned it…_

Fear took hold of him, guiding his next action before the less impulsive part of his mind could prevent him. He snatched Maxie out of Phoebe's hands, cutting her off in the middle of an inquiry regarding the quality of the carrots Maxie had eaten for dinner last night. She blinked, her mouth dropping open, her fingers grasping at air instead of a soft stuffed animal. She turned her head towards Quentin, her eyes widening as they fell upon Maxie clutched protectively against his chest.

For a short time, shock was the emotion that ruled the atmosphere, as neither of them could believe that Quentin had done what he just did. Then the hurt set in, quick and overwhelming. Quentin had never been hit by anybody before, but he had to think that this was what a punch to the stomach felt like- the hard impact, the loss of breath, and the inability to think of anything except the hurt you were experiencing must be similar enough. The way Phoebe was looking at him made him feel like he certainly deserved to be hit. There was a sheen of tears in her dark eyes, and her mouth worked helplessly as she struggled to process the reason behind Quentin's actions.

He swallowed thickly and looked away, his hands trembling as he held Maxie. "Uh…" He wanted to explain himself, wanted to apologize, wanted to thrust the bunny back into her arms, like that would erase the previous seconds from existence. Tears constricted his throat, and guilt paralyzed everything else, and all he could do was stand there and stammer uselessly. _I'm sorry, Phoebe,_ he tried to say to her telepathically. He wasn't sure if she got his message, for he received no reply.

"Quentin!" Dad's stern call from the bottom of the stairs broke the moment, giving Quentin temporary distraction from Phoebe's hurt, rapidly spilling into his mind. "You left the door open, young man."

"S-Sorry, Dad!" Quentin yelled back, his voice nearly breaking as he spoke. "We- uh, I'll be right there!" He turned back to Phoebe, who had cast her wounded gaze down to her empty hands. "I-Dad wants me to close the door," he said stupidly, unable to stop himself from rambling now that he had regained control of his vocal chords. "So I'm gonna gonna go do that, before he like, gets mad and stuff…"

"Okay," her voice sounded so weak, and Quentin might have thought she had said nothing at all had he not seen her lips moving. Her hands fell limply to her sides and her shoulders slumped.

Quentin took a step back, wanting to leave the hallway where he had messed up so badly, but unwilling to just leave Phoebe there by herself. "I'm...going now," he said, making a great effort to give her a mediocre impression of a smile. "You're going too, right?"

Phoebe shrugged. "Yeah."

"Um...Race you?"

Again, that shrug. Quentin did not know if she even understood his question. "Okay...Ready, set, go!" He walked, instead of sprinting like he had before, pausing now and then to make sure Phoebe was following. This race he won, but it was not a victory he took any joy in.

Phoebe recovered her spirits somewhat once they were back outside, but Quentin could still feel the hurt radiating off of her as they half-heartedly pushed Maxie down the slide over and over again. She left shortly before dinner, choosing to go home rather than stay at Quentin's like they had originally planned.

Later that evening, he talked it over with his Grandma, and with her encouragement, mustered up enough courage to give Phoebe a call. "Hey Phoebe," he said, winding the phone cord nervously around his fingers. "I'm really sorry about taking Maxie from you like that. I was a jerk."

"It's okay, Quentin," she said, sounding a bit less sad than she had when she had left his house. "I get why you did it. You thought I was gonna burn Maxie, so I understand."

Her easy forgiveness, for some reason, made Quentin feel worse, though he could not understand why.


	6. 4-2-1999

"Hey, Quentin," Chris Paluca said, sticking his spoon into his pudding cup and scooping out a glob of dark chocolate goop. Unfortunately, Chris had a very soft voice, and what followed was drowned out by a burst of raucous laughter from the table next to theirs. Quentin considered reading his bespectacled friend's mind to find out what he had said- it would be easier than trying to catch it over the din of the cafeteria- but he decided against it. His telepathy was getting better all the time with Phoebe as his practice partner, but Mom had told him that his other friends might be startled to hear his voice suddenly in their heads. Instead he waited until the laughter subsided before asking Chris to repeat himself.

Chris did not do so right away. First he removed the plastic spoon from his mouth. Then, after examining the utensil for any remaining traces of chocolate pudding, he carefully stuck it into the cup for safe-keeping. Each action was performed meticulously, as though Chris thought he was being graded for his precision. Some people got really mad at the pace with which he did things, but Quentin didn't mind; he thought it was really 'zen', as Grandma would have put it. "I asked if Phoebe was coming back soon," Chris said, not at all annoyed at having to repeat himself.

"Oh, yeah!" Quentin replied, happily nodding his head. "She'll be back on Monday."

Chris pushed his thick-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head back, his gaze facing upwards to the right, before making its way slowly over to the left. He mulled this information over for a good five seconds before tipping his head forward, a small smile on his face. "That is good," he declared plainly.

"It's great!" exclaimed Leah Tsuchiya exuberantly, seated on Quentin's right. She clapped her hands together, her hazel-gold eyes sparkling. "I can't wait to see her! I missed her so much!"

Quentin felt a warmth spread throughout his chest. Although Leah appeared to be more excited than Chris, he knew that both of his friends were equally eager to see Phoebe after their long separation. "She missed you guys too,"Quentin said, giving Leah a quick side-hug and holding up his hand to Chris for a high-five. Chris reached out and lightly tapped Quentin's palm with his own. "She's totally stoked about coming back to school!"

Stoked and scared. Quentin recalled that Phoebe had been worried about the other kids being afraid of her. "What if they think I'm gonna burn them?" she had asked him nervously over the phone last night. Quentin had assured her that everyone would be happy to see her, but the lingering tension in her tone had implied that she didn't quite believe him.

He didn't mention any of this to his friends, not wanting to bring down the good mood they had going on at the table. "Did you tell her that I got my hair cut?" Leah asked, running her fingers through the short dark strands of her pixie cut. "Do you think she'll like it?"

Quentin blushed- he knew for sure that he liked it- but someone from another table interrupted him before he could reply. "She shouldn't be allowed to come back."

Quentin tensed up, not needing to turn around to know who had spoken. The snide voice belonged to none other than Dalton Bishop, a kid who had been Phoebe's enemy since Kindergarten. At first, none of the group took Dalton's bait, keeping their eyes fixed onto their lunches, their cheer dissolving like salt in water. This was unacceptable to Dalton; when he said mean things like that it was with the intention of upsetting his target, who Quentin suspected to be himself. "Yeah, they need to keep her and her kind-" he poked Quentin on the back of the neck- " locked up at home. Or in a nuthouse." He let out a snicker, and the others at his table started giggling too, as though that were their cue to do so.

Quentin's face turned red as a sick feeling began to simmer in his stomach. He was not like Phoebe or Leah; Dalton's teasing often left him feeling anxious rather than angry, and he could not confront it the way his female friends could. The negativity was already getting to him- Leah's rising anger and Chris' cold fear were pulsing in the middle of his brain, somehow mixing with his own emotions. He knew, however, that ignoring Dalton would only cause him to ramp up the harassment, so he smoothed his nervous expression out as best he could and moved to face the bully. "Man, knock it off," he said as sternly as he could. "That's not cool."

The sneering grin on Dalton's face stretched wider, revealing the tooth he had just recently lost. "Neither is Phoebe. That's why she burned down that shed!" Again his friends erupted into cackles, making Quentin feel like he'd just been hit in the face after stepping on a rake.

One of the boys sitting next to Dalton slapped him on the back. "Oh man," he said, wiping a fake tear away, "that's a good one!"

"It wasn't good," Chris piped up, his eyes trained on the end of his spoon. "Not good at all."

Dalton narrowed his eyes at Chris. "Shut up, Pa-looney," he said before turning his attention to Quentin. "If we let her back into the school, she'll burn the whole damn building down!" His eyes alighted at the prospect of the school being set on fire, and he looked like he would start laughing maniacally at any second.

Quentin shifted in discomfort, trying to force the glee spreading over from Dalton out of his head. His eyes fell upon the other boy's light brown hair, which was slicked back from his forehead and hard from the over-application of hair spray. "No, she wouldn't," he said in defense of his best friend. "That thing with the shed was just an accident." He tried to talk the way Mom did whenever she had to explain why something he said or did was wrong.

The tone had no effect on Dalton. "That's not what I heard," he shot back smugly. "She totally did it on purpose! My old man's got a contact in the fire company, and he said that she was burning little things before she went for the shed." He crossed his arms over his chest, daring Quentin to refute him. "Soon she'll be going for Pa-looney's guinea pigs!"

Leah slammed her fist on the table, rattling her tray. "Shut it, Dalton!" she yelled, pointing her finger at him. "The only reason your Dad knows anything is because he's a sleazy ambulance chaser!"

Dalton sucked in a breath, his eyes bulging out in fury. Everyone knew that Dalton's father was a lawyer- his face was plastered on every bench and bus, and he even had a commercial advertising his services. "I-you…" he stammered, his mouth working uselessly as his fists clenched so hard that his fingers turned white. For some reason insults to his father got to him more than ones directed at himself, and he looked very much like he wanted to punch Leah in retaliation.

Quentin wasn't sure that he would. Leah was the tallest girl in their grade, in addition to being the best at gym class, and she had once kicked a third-grade boy in the shin for trying to steal her honeybun. He had little doubt that she could take Dalton, but he didn't really want things to get physical. He put a hand on Leah's shoulder, which trembled under his touch, as though her whole body was vibrating with anger. "Don't let him get to you, Leah," he said gently. "If you fight him you'll get in trouble."

Leah continued to glare at Dalton for a few more worrying seconds, but then she relaxed, the tension releasing from her body like air from a balloon. "Yeah, you're right," she said, giving Dalton one last withering glare. "Phoebe wouldn't want me to waste my energy on the likes of him." She spat the words out like they were a nasty piece of old candy. She turned back to her lunch, and Quentin hoped that would be the end of the unpleasant interaction. It was unfortunately not to be, for the moment he looked away Dalton said something very, very rude about Leah, using a word that would have gotten him in a world of trouble had the lunch monitor overheard him.

Quentin shot up from his seat, shock spurring him into movement. "Dalton, what the heck!" he said, hardly able to believe that even Dalton would sink so low. "That's way over the line, man! You can't say things like that!"

Dalton's face scrunched up in confusion. "What are you talking about? I didn't say anything, dummy."

"Yes you did!" Quentin argued, the volume of his voice rising. "We all heard it! I'm gonna…" He swallowed, not sure of what he was going to do. "I'm gonna tell the teacher," he finished weakly.

"Tell the teacher what? I didn't say anything," Dalton insisted, though his eyes began to shift around nervously. The other kids at the table vouched for his innocence.

To Quentin's surprise, so did both of his friends. "Um, Quentin," Leah said, looking just as confused as Dalton and his friends did, "I didn't hear him say anything."

"Neither did I," Chris mumbled.

Quentin blinked. "What? You really didn't hear him call you a-" He cut himself off before he could repeat the swear, his face heating up. How could they not have heard Dalton when he had said it so loudly?_ Unless he didn't actually say it?_ Quentin thought, the realization hitting him like a sack of organic potatoes. _Oh man, did I accidentally pick up on his thoughts? But it sounded like he was talking out loud!_

As Quentin was puzzling over it, Leah began demanding to know what Dalton had called her. "You dirty coward!" she said, shaking her fist at him. "You got something to say to me, say it to my face!"

Dalton held his hands up defensively. "I didn't say anything! Quentin's a liar!" His eyes slid away from Leah and over to Quentin, who was still standing. "L-Look!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "His face is turning red! He's gonna set us all on fire!"

The cafeteria suddenly went dead silent, the word 'fire' catching everyone's attention. Dalton seized the opportunity to get Leah off of his back. "He's about to light the whole place up! Just like his girlfriend!"

Quentin froze, the feel of everyone's eyes on him just making the blood rush faster to his cheeks. "N-no I'm not...uh." He faltered, unsure of how to stand up for himself. "I can't...Phoebe's not my girlfriend!"

Dalton pinched his collar between his fingers and stretched it out. "Man, is it getting hot in here?" he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. A chorus of agreement followed, with the other boys at the table wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves.

He heard Leah arguing with Dalton, but he couldn't discern what they were saying. Thoughts and feelings from all over the cafeteria flooded into his mind, so many of them at once, like a crowd trying to get into a stadium. _What's going on? Something's on fire? Are we gonna get burned?_ A confusing burst of fear, anger, curiosity and mockery mingled together, coming from every direction. _Why's that boy standing over there?_ Chris pulled at his sleeve and said something, but it felt very far away. _I thought they expelled the girl who set stuff on fire. Dang, I hope he lights that jerk Dalton up!_ He sank into his chair with a plop, his knees suddenly too weak to support him._ What's with the first graders this year? They're all so strange! Should I go ring the fire alarm? Chill man, chill. You gotta chill._ Were those last thoughts his own? It was impossible to tell. _Oooh, Mrs. Fuller's coming! They're all gonna get it!_ He put his hands over his ears but it did nothing to stifle the psychic noise. _It's not gonna stop._ Tears brimmed in his eyes as a new wave of foreign emotion crashed over him._ I wish Phoebe were here…_

"Alright, settle down!" The sharp call of an adult's voice brought the thoughts to a halt, giving Quentin some relief. From the other side of the cafeteria, a squat elderly lady approached. It was Mrs. Fuller, the lunch monitor. "What's going on here?" she barked, setting her hands on her hips. Her glare landed on Dalton. "Dalton Bishop! Are you causing trouble again?"

"I- what! No!" Dalton said, outraged by the accusation. "It wasn't me, it was him!" He jabbed a finger at Quentin. "He was...he was gonna set me on fire!"

Mrs. Fuller narrowed her eyes. She was not a particularly nice lady, and she didn't have any fondness for Quentin, but she really disliked Dalton. Rumor had it that Dalton's father had gotten the guy who'd stolen her car last winter 'off the hook,' as the older kids put it, but Quentin didn't know if that was true. "Quit lying, boy!" she said sharply. "This room doesn't feel any hotter than it normally does!"

"I'm not lying!" Dalton said, an insentient whine to his tone. "Look, I'm all...sweaty?"

"Enough! Pick up your tray and go stand outside!" Mrs. Fuller ordered, pointing over to the trash cans. "Lunch is over for you!" Dalton did not immediately obey, so she stepped forward menacingly. "I'm going to count to ten, and if you're not out of here by then, you're gonna be sitting in detention for the next week. One…"

Dalton stood up, his chair screeching against the linoleum floor. He stomped out of the cafeteria, leaving his tray behind, and by the time Mrs. Fuller got to five he was slamming the door shut.

Mrs. Fuller sighed, muttering to herself as she picked up Dalton's abandoned tray. "That boy's a bigger nuisance than the firestarter." She swept her gaze over the remaining students, her eyes landing on each individual for a solid second. "If I catch any of you here causing any more disruptions, I will send all of you out there to join him," she threatened. "Is that clear?" Everyone silently nodded their understanding. "Good." With that, she stalked off to dispose of Dalton's unfinished lunch.

The cafeteria returned to normal once the show was over. "I'm glad that Dalton is gone," Chris said, slowly sliding his spoon out of his pudding.

"Yeah," Quentin agreed, wiping at his eyes. He was still a little shaky, the experience of having all of those thoughts in his head leaving him exhausted, and he no longer had any appetite for the artisan peanut butter and jelly sandwich before him.

"I can't believe that Dalton said all that crap about Phoebe!" Leah said, angrily stabbing her fork into her macaroni and cheese.

"It was upsetting and inaccurate," Chris added.

"Yeah! And what about when he said that Quentin was gonna set him on fire?" She rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the statement. "Puh-leese! Everyone knows that Quentin isn't like that."

After that, the subject changed to other things, but Quentin spent the rest of the lunch period wondering what Leah had meant by 'like that.' _Like...Phoebe?_


End file.
